if.liveandletdie-第5节

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ly　sleep　in　the　raw　in　America；　Mr。　Bond'）　and　gave　himself　a　sizzling　cold　shower。　As　he　shaved　he　examined　his　face　in　the　glass。　The　thick　ma　of　black　hair　above　his　right　eyebrow　had　lost　some　of　its　tail　and　his　hair　was　trimmed　close　across　the　temples。　Nothing　could　be　done　about　the　thin　vertical　scar　down　his　right　cheek；　although　the　FBI　had　experimented　with　'Cover…Mark'；　or　about　the　coldness　and　hint　of　anger　in　his　grey…blue　eyes；　but　there　was　the　mixed　blood　of　America　in　the　black　hair　and　high　cheekbones　and　Bond　thought　he　might　get　by　…　except；　perhaps；　with　women。
　Naked；　Bond　walked　out　into　the　lobby　and　tore　open　some　of　the　packages。　Later；　in　white　shirt　and　dark　blue　trousers；　he　went　into　the　sitting…room；　pulled　a　chair　up　to　the　writing…desk　near　the　window　and　opened　The　Travellers　Tree；　by　Patrick　Leigh　Fermor。2
　This　extraordinary　book　had　been　remended　to　him　by　M。
　'It's　by　a　chap　who　knows　what　he's　talking　about；'　he　said；　'and　don't　forget　that　he　was　writing　about　what　was　happening　in　Haiti　in　1950。　This　isn't　medieval　black…magic　stuff。　It's　being　practised　every　day。'
　Bond　was　half　way　through　the　section　on　Haiti。
　
　The　next　step　＇he　read＇　is　the　invocation　of　evil　denizens　of　the　Voodoo　pantheon　…　such　as　Don　Pedro；　Kitta；　Mondongue；　Bakalou　and　Zandor　…　for　harmful　purposes；　for　the　reputed　practice　（which　is　of　Congolese　origin）　of　turning　people　into　zombies　in　order　to　use　them　as　slaves；　the　casting　of　maleficent　spells；　and　the　destruction　of　enemies。　The　effects　of　the　spell；　of　which　the　outward　form　may　be　an　image　of　the　intended　victim；　a　miniature　coffin　or　a　toad；　are　frequently　stiffened　by　the　separate　use　of　poison。　Father　Gosme　enlarged　on　the　superstitions　that　maintain　that　men　with　certain　powers　change　themselves　into　snakes；　on　the　'Loups…Garoups'　that　fly　at　night　in　the　form　of　vampire　bats　and　suck　the　blood　of　children；　on　men　who　reduce　themselves　to　infinitesimal　size　and　roll　about　the　countryside　in　calabashes。　What　sounded　far　more　sinister　were　a　number　of　mystico…criminal　secret　societies　of　wizards；　with　nightmarish　titles　…　'les　Mackanda'；　named　after　the　poison　campaign　of　the　Haitian　hero；　'les　Zobop'；　who　were　also　robbers；　the　'Mazanxa'；　the　'Caporelata'　and　the　'Vlin…bindingue'。　These；　he　said；　were　the　mysterious　groups　whose　gods　demand　…　instead　of　a　cock；　a　pigeon；　a　goat；　a　dog；　or　a　pig；　as　in　the　normal　rites　of　Voodoo　…　the　sacrifice　of　a　'cabrit　sans　cornes'。　This　hornless　goat；　of　course；　means　a　human　being。。。
　Bond　turned　over　the　pages；　occasional　passages　bining　to　form　an　extraordinary　picture　in　his　mind　of　a　dark　religion　and　its　terrible　rites。
　。。。　Slowly；　out　of　the　turmoil　and　the　smoke　and　the　shattering　noise　of　the　drums；　which；　for　a　time；　drove　everything　except　their　impact　from　the　mind；　the　details　began　to　detach　themselves。。。　Backwards　and　forwards；　very　slowly；　the　dancers　shuffled；　and　at　each　step　their　chins　shot　out　and　their　buttocks　jerked　upwards；　while　their　shoulders　shook　in　double　time。　Their　eyes　were　half　closed　and　from　their　mouths　came　again　and　again　the　same　inprehensible　words；　the　same　short　line　of　chanted　song；　repeated　after　each　iteration；　half　an　octave　lower。　At　a　change　in　the　beat　of　the　drums；　they　straightened　their　bodies；　and　flinging　their　arms　in　the　air　while　their　eyes　rolled　upwards；　spun　round　and　round。。。　At　the　edge　of　the　crowd　we　came　upon　a　little　hut；　scarcely　larger　than　a　dog　kennel：　'Le　caye　Zombi'。　The　beam　of　a　torch　revealed　a　black　cross　inside　and　some　rags　and　chains　and　shackles　and　whips：　adjuncts　used　at　the　Ghede　ceremonies；　which　Haitian　ethnologists　connect　with　the　rejuvenation　rites　of　Osiris　recorded　in　the　Book　of　the　Dead。　A　fire　was　burning；　in　which　two　sabres　and　a　large　pair　of　pincers　were　standing；　their　lower　parts　red　with　the　heat：　'le　Feu　Marixiette'；　dedicated　to　a　goddess　who　is　the　evil　obverse　of　the　bland　and　amorous　Maitresse　Erzulie　Freda　Dahomin；　the　Goddess　of　Love。
　Beyond；　with　its　base　held　fast　in　a　socket　of　stone；　stood　a　large　black　wooden　cross。　A　white　death's　head　was　painted　near　the　base；　and　over　the　crossbar　were　pulled　the　sleeves　of　a　very　old　morning　coat。　Here　also　rested　the　brim　of　a　battered　bowler　hat；　through　the　torn　crown　of　which　the　top　of　the　cross　projected。　This　totem；　with　which　every　peristyle　must　be　equipped；　is　not　a　lampoon　of　the　central　event　of　the
　Christian　faith；　but　represents　the　God　of　the　Cemeteries　and　the　Chief　of　the　Legion　of　the　Dead；　Baron　Samedi。　The　Baron　is　paramount　in　all　matters　immediately　beyond　the　tomb。　He　is　Cerberus　and　Charon　as　well　as　Aeacus；　Rhadamanthus　and　Pluto。
　。。。　The　drums　changed　and　the　Houngenikon　came　dancing　on　to　the　floor；　holding　a　vessel　filled　with　some　burning　liquid　from　which　sprang　blue　and　yellow　flames。　As　he　circled　the　pillar　and　spilt　three　flaming　libations；　his　steps　began　to　falter。　Then；　lurching　backwards　with　the　same　symptoms　of　delirium　that　had　manifested　themselves　in　his　forerunner；　he　flung　down　the　whole　blazing　mass。　The　houncis　caught　him　as　he　reeled；　and　removed　his　sandals　and　rolled　his　trousers　up；　while　the　kerchief　fell　from　his　head　and　laid　bare　his　young　woolly　skull。　The　other　houncis　knelt　to　put　their　hands　in　the　flaming　mud；　and　rub　it　over　their　hands　and　elbows　and　faces。　The　Houngan's　bell　and　'agon'　rattled　officiously　and　the　young　priest　was　left　by　himself；　reeling　and　colliding　against　the　pillar；　helplessly　catapulting　across　the　floor；　and　falling　among　the　drums。　His　eyes　were　shut；　his　forehead　screwed　up　and　his　chin　hung　loose。　Then；　as　though　an　invisible　fist　had　dealt　him　a　heavy　blow；　he　fell　to　the　ground　and　lay　there；　with　his　head　stretching　backwards　in　a　rictus　of　anguish　until　the　tendons　of　his　neck　and　shoulders　projected　like　roots。　One　hand　clutched　at　the　other　elbow　behind　his　hollowed　back　as　though　he　were　striving　to　break　his　own　arm；　and　his　whole　body；　from　which　the　sweat　was　streaming；　trembled　and　shuddered　like　a　dog　in　a　dream。　Only　the　whites　of　his　eyes　were　visible　as；　although　his　eye…sockets　were　now　wide　open；　the　pupils　had　vanished　under　the　lids。　Foam　collected　on　his　lips。。。
　。。。　Now　the　Houngan；　dancing　a　slow　step　and　brandishing　a　cutlass；　advanced　from　the　fireside；　flinging　the　weapon　again　and　again　into　the　air；　and　catching　it　by　the　hilt。　In　a　few　minutes　he　was　holding　it　by　the　blunted　end　of　the　blade。　Dancing　slowly　towards　him；　the　Houngenikon　reached　out　and　grasped　the　hilt。　The　priest　retired；　and　the　young　man；　twirling　and　leaping；　spun　from　side　to　side　of　the　'tonnelle'。　The　ring　of　spectators　rocked　backwards　as　he　bore　down　upon　them　whirling　the　blade　over　his　head；　with　the　gaps　in　his　bared　teeth　lending　to　his　mandril　face　a　still　more　feral　aspect。　The　'tonnelle'　was　filled　for　a　few　seconds　with　genuine　and　unmitigated　terror。　The　singing　had　turned　to　a　universal　howl　and　the　drummers；　rolling　and　lolling　with　the　furious　and　invisible　motion　of　their　hands；　were　lost　in　a　transport　of　noise。
　Flinging　back　his　head；　the　novice　drove　the　blunt　end　of　the　cutlass　into　his　stomach。　His　knees　sagged；　and　his　head　fell　forward。。。
　
　There　came　a　knock　on　the　door　and　a　waiter　came　in　with　breakfast。　Bond　was　glad　to　put　the　dreadful　tale　aside　and　re…enter　the　world　of　normality。　But　it　took　him　minutes　to　forget　the　atmosphere；　heavy　with　terror　and　the　occult；　that　had　surrounded　him　as　he　read。
　With　breakfast　came　another　parcel；　about　a　foot　square；　expensive…looking；　which　Bond　told　the　waiter　to　put　on　the　sideboard。　Some　afterthought　of　Leiter's；　he　supposed。　He　ate　his　breakfast　with　enjoyment。　Between　mouthfuls　he　looked　out　of　the　wide　window　and　reflected　on　what　he　had　just　read。
　It　was　only　when　he　had　swallowed　his　last　mouthful　of　coffee　and　had　lit　his　first　cigarette　of　the　day　that　he　suddenly　became　aware　of　the　tiny　noise　in　the　room　behind　him。
　It　was　a　soft；　muffled　ticking；　unhurried；　metallic。　And　it　came　from　the　direction　of　the　sideboard。
　'Tick…tock。。。　tick…tock。。。　tick…tock。'
　Without　a　moment's　hesitation；　without　caring　that　he　looked　a　fool；　he　dived　to　the　floor　behind　his　armchair　and　crouched；　all　his　senses　focused　on　the　noise　from　the　square　parcel。　'Steady；'　he　said　to　himself。　'Don't　be　an　idiot。　It's　just　a　clock。'　But　why　a　clock？　Why　should　he　be　given　a　clock？　Who　by？
　'Tick…tock。。。　tick…tock。。。　tick…tock。'
　It　had　bee　a　huge　noise　against　the　silence　of　the　room。　It　seemed　to　be　keeping　time　with　the　thumping　of　Bond's　heart。　'Don't　be　ridiculous。　That　Voodoo　stuff　of　Leigh　Fermor's　has　put　your　nerves　on　edge。　Those　drums。。。'
　'Tick…tock。。。　tick…tock。。。　tick…'
　And　then；　suddenly；　the　alarm　went　off　with　a　deep；　melodious；　urgent　summons。
　'Tongtougtongtongtongtong。。。'
　Bond's　muscles　relaxed。　His　cigarette　was　burning　a　hole　in　the　carpet。　He　picked　it　up　and　put　it　in　his　mouth。　Bombs　in　alarm　clocks　go　off　when　the　hammer　first　es　down　on　the　alarm。　The　hammer　hits　a　pin　in　a　detonator；　the　detonator　fires　the　explosive　and　WHAM。。。
　Bond　raised　his　head　above　the　back　of　the　chair　and　watched　the　parcel。
　'Tongtongtongtongtong。。。'
　The